#one car window decal

[xiaq]

Shockingly, I could not find a “moody floral Star Trek laptop case,” so I had to get creative and make my own.

[orcelito]

Ok so the person I had for my driving test was really nice, actually. I mentioned how I do have glasses but it's a light prescription so I might be able to do the sight test without them & I'd like to try. And he was chill with it, just said that whatever I did in the place I had to do during the test too. Which apparently I don't need 20/20, I just need at least one eye to pass it. So I did!!! My left eye definitely didn't see good enough lol but my right eye managed it. Which means I don't have a glasses restriction on my license. I just need to have mirrors on both sides, which pretty much all cars do these days.

So I drove without my glasses. It went fine! Just made me a little more nervous about reading speed limit signs, but I managed. I didn't even have to do parallel parking for it lol. He just had me drive thru some residential areas, thru a school zone, etc etc. I was very careful to not speed at All and to fully stop at every stop sign. Etc etc.

Got out of the car and he was like "now that we're out of the car, congratulations! You passed!!" And I was so keyed up on nerves that it didn't fully sink in immediately hdkshfks but it's sinking in I think

I passed my driving skills test!!! I have my license!!!!! Smth I've been so nervous about for TEN. YEARS. I finally did it!!!! And then I'll get my own car, and I'll be much more independent, and I can DO THINGS....!!!! Like go to the mall on a whim!!!!! Exciting!!!!!

[honeykaes]

My hair being blown out is always an interesting experience haha

But overall good day. I was genuinely happy and it was kinda shocking how positive I was ☺️

[sapsolais]

'

[salem-witch-slut]

He Doesn't Know (18+)

Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You said you loved him all the time... But you couldn't care less about him. He wasn't her. No man could compare to Abby Anderson.

WARNINGS: Modern AU!, Semi-public sex (car sex), strap-on use (r!receiving), pussy eating, hair-pulling, choking, cheating, improper use of church parking lot, age gap (14 years), dom!Abby, sub!reader, no use of y/n, slight knife/blood kink, very aggressive sex (im warning you, it's intense)

WORD COUNT: 4K

A/N: You guys heard "Scotty Doesn't Know"? Yeah, well I heard the song and ran with it. Fight me. Also, I have very deep and disrespectful vendettas against men named Dylan. 95% of them suck.

Sunday morning was bathed in the golden light of the sun rising, basking the old church building in the most prolific illumination with the golden accent to the stain glass windows. Rainbows were cast across the carpet and over the walls, beating down on the patrons inside of the church pews. It was the epitome of holiness… and yet, you were nowhere to be found.

Not that they would look for you. You usually only showed up for the morning Sunday classes and then you would leave before service started… well, leave was a strong word. You were still around, but no one could ever find you, so they assumed you were gone. If only someone was hanging around the back parking lot where nobody ever looks, they would see a beat-up old van covered in decal stickers, and the entire vehicle was shaking against the concrete.

Your fingers moved quickly over the screen on your cell phone as you replied to your boyfriend on the other end of the text, biting down on the pillow underneath your chest and trying to contain your cries of pleasure.

“Yeah, tell him how much you love him,” The cruel, sexy voice behind you growled down in your ear. Your heart pounded in your chest as you sobbed into the pillow, strong veiny hands gripping at your ass and leaving clear bruise marks behind on your skin. “Can’t let him know… you’re creaming on my fucking dick, princess…”

“Ahhhh… Abby…” You whined, your back arching a bit more in order to look at the person who belonged to the voice. Hands released your ass before they dropped down on the floor of the van underneath you. Massive, muscular arms caged you down as you felt the tickle of her long blonde braid caress your cheek, her boots digging into the floorboards as she hammers that thick fake cock into your cunt.

It was the same every single Sunday… Abby would show up, you two would sit in class together, and then as soon as it was over, she was dragging you into her van and pushing your skirt up before fucking you senseless. Your boyfriend never came to church with you, so your absence was always excusable. He never even bothered to look to see if you were telling the truth. He trusted you, and that was his mistake.

Dylan was pathetic. He didn’t know how to make you feel wanted like Abby did. He didn’t know what you liked, nor did he take an active interest in the things you loved to do. Abby, on the other hand… Abby was your literal dream. Blonde, tall, built like a work horse, sweet and caring, rough… She was perfect. There was only one problem… Both of your parents were extremely homophobic. Not to mention you were 14 years younger than her.

At 20 years old, Abby was 34 and that was enough for your parents to freak out. You were in your second year of college, and you had been convinced you were straight… right until Abby walked into your life. At first, it was harmless flirting. And then, it quickly went to not flirting. Abby had been the one to make a move first. She pressed you against the bathroom door when she caught you going back to service.

And since that day, your life has never been the same. Your parents loved Dylan, and thought he was a proper gentleman. He went to church with his own family across town, and you went with your parents every single Sunday. Of course, you made up the lie that you would need to work after morning classes on Sunday, which they didn’t like at first but let slide.

It was the perfect guise to get you away from everyone and everything, and to sneak inside of Abby’s van… It was where the sin first began, and now it was where it would never stop.

You never got tired of this. You would always and forever love the feeling of Abby’s strap stretching your velvety walls as she bottomed out inside of you, holding you down like some filthy sex toy that she abused to her heart’s desire. You loved hearing her groan and growl out your name, calling you her little whore, saying how well you are taking her cock like she was made for you… watching you text your boyfriend and mocking you whenever you said you loved him.

“You love him, huh?” Abby breathed down against the back of your neck, moving your hair away from your shoulder and kissing along your skin. “Then why… is he not inside of your fucking pussy, right now?”

You didn’t love him, at all. He became annoying and desperate after 2 weeks and you wanted nothing more than to cut Dylan loose. But your parents adored him, and you kept up the charade just to pretend like you still had a straight bone in your body. When it all came down to it, whenever Abby texted you… you were at her every beckon call. You were hers, through and through. Dylan doesn’t ever come close to Abigail Anderson.

Your soft little cries filled the back of the van as Abby grabbed your wrists, the veins popping in her hands as she held your arms back and began to fuck with more vigor than before, probably fucking the van’s suspension and creating the most vulgar sounds imaginable. How you two were never, ever caught, you would never know.

“Fuck, take it baby,” Abby snarled, watching your ass bounce and jiggle with each snap of her hips against your own. Your moans carried in the small space, feeling like a fucking sauna with how hard you were breathing. Sweat dripped from her brow as she yanked on your arms, making your back arch even more, forcing you to look up at her from behind. “Nnngg, you look so fucking perfect… so fucking pretty, baby…”

“Abby,” You cried out, panting and drooling with each passing second. “Fuckfuckfuuuuck, d-don’t stop… don’t fucking stop—”

“You gonna cum for me, princess?” Abby smirked, reaching down and wrapping both of her massive hands around your neck and pulling you up until your back was pressed against her chest, the fabric of her jeans digging into your thighs and without a doubt going to leave a burn in its wake. “Go on, princess… be a good girl, yeah? Be my good little slut and cream all over my cock.”

You were so fucking close that it hurt! Right on the edge of your climax, so desperate to feel that sweet release and give Abby exactly what she wanted. Very slowly, Abby wrapped her huge forearm around your neck and with one hand, she slid it across the front of your dress, pausing to grip your breast before sliding her hand down the rest of the way and gently rubbing at your throbbing clit. You made a noise that was a cross between a cry and whimper and Abby groaned, deep in her throat.

“Fuck, that’s a pretty noise princess… like it when I rub your clit like that? Huh? Come on, come on! Fucking cum for me!” Her words sent shockwaves all over your body as you began to twitch and jerk in her hold. Abby kept her pace and basked in the sounds you made, watching as your legs wobbled and threatened to give out, forcing her to hold on even tighter and fuck you through your earth-shattering orgasm. “Good girl, good fucking girl, that’s it baby… just like that, yeah just like that…”

You were completely beyond forming coherent sentences, or even making comprehensible sounds as you collapsed against her body, drool dripping down your chin from your lips as a fresh set of tears tracked your face. Abby chuckled sweetly and slowly laid you down on the mass of blankets and pillows she started keeping in the back of her van just for you after events like this take place.

Abby took her time as she pulled her hips back, watching the thick silicone cock slide out of your stretched cunt, chuckling at the white ring around the base from your juices. You wanted to cry, feeling so empty now without her strap taking up your entire being. Abby let the toy flop down against your ass, and then gave your cheeks a rough smack, making your entire body jerk forward at the contact.

“Little slut,” Abby barked, pulling the harness off her hips and reaching down to grab at your hair. You don’t know why you thought she was done… Abby was never done. Of course, you didn’t want to be done. That would mean you two leave your little bubble that you created with her… In here, you were able to pretend that Abby was it. Abby was your everything and you could give up on this stupid ass mistake.

Before you could ask Abby what was next, she was forcing you on your back and unzipping her jeans. You watched her shimmy out of the fabric and made quick work of her boxers before she crouched over your face. If this wasn’t the sight of heaven, church hadn’t done shit for you. You started salivating almost instantly, grabbing at her hips and attempting to pull her down so you could enjoy the feast, but Abby was far too strong for you to control. She chuckled and ran a hand through your hair.

“Easy, princess… I know, you wanna taste this pussy so fucking bad, don’t you?” Abby grabbed your chin with one hand, sliding her thumb across your bottom lip and you sucked the digit into her mouth. Your tongue stroked over her flesh, and you slurped on her thumb, closing your eyes for a brief second and watching her grin before she pulled her hand away from your face, delivering a hard slap across your cheek. “Yeah baby, I know you fuckin’ love that, don’t you?”

Why you enjoyed it when she hit you, you would never truly understand. The stinging sensation left behind after she delivered a soft blow to your face, or your ass, even your cunt, you would be almost purring with desire and arousal. You loved how strong she was and loved it when she showed it without even trying. Abby always held back, never wanting to actually hurt you, but wanting to make you whine.

Without another hit, Abby lowered herself down and grabbed you by your hair once again, clutching your locks and making you gasp. “Open. Tongue out… all the way, princess…”

You opened your mouth up immediately at her command and stuck out your tongue as far as it could humanly go, drooling on your face and watching as she lowered herself down onto your mouth. You were quick to nuzzle your face into her cunt and you began to lick at her almost immediately, holding her by the hips and making the obscenest slurping sounds ever. Abby groaned, her head going back and her eyes rolling back in her head.

“Nnnnn… that’s my good little whore… fuck, no one eats my pussy like you do, sweet thing…” Your heart soared at her praise, paying attention to her clit and using the flat top of your tongue to lap at her like a dog drinking up water. The very thought of someone else having their mouth on her cunt had you moving with desperation. Abby was well aware of your stupid boyfriend, but you didn’t know how many girls she had doing this exact same thing… It turned you fucking feral.

A low moan rumbled out of you, sending vibrations through her clit as you wrapped your lips around the swollen nub and began sucking, hard. Abby bucked her hips against your face, her ass flexing in your hands before she shoved her whole fist against the side of the van. The movement of her body had your teeth scraping against her and she groaned with pleasure.

“Fuck, keep that up baby,” Abby praised, looking down and watching your eyes squinted shut and your brows knitted with what she could only assume was concentration. The noises your mouth created as you slurped, sucked, and drooled on her pussy were beyond vulgar, and if anybody from church could see you now, they would perform an exorcism, assuming you had been possessed by some filthy whore.

Your nails bit into Abby’s skin, creating crescent moon shaped indents in her ass as you released her clit with a wet slurp and scooted down a bit further. Abby rolled her hips forward, watching your eyes as they opened up and then rolled back in your head, almost drowning in her slick cunt. You took your time, mapping her out with your mouth before you gripped her strong, muscly thighs and began to push your tongue inside of her hot cavern. The noise Abby made was the start of a whimper, and then immediately faded into a snarl of aggressive pleasure.

“Fuck, princess… fuck, you dirty little slut… God you feel so fucking good on my pussy, sweet girl…” You practically cry with her praise, leaning into her hand as you thrust your tongue in and out of her, licking her spongey inner walls and feeling her practically bounce on your face as she humped your face.

You didn’t give a shit about anything else, and all that was on your mind was feeling Abby cum on your mouth. Your phone was lighting up, and Abby could see the countless texts from Dylan, and she had to resist everything inside of her to not pick up your phone to record you eating her out.

“You love the taste of my cunt, don’t you baby?” Abby moaned out, nails scratching across your scalp and making you whimper on her pussy. She rolled her hips slowly, grinding her clit against your nose and biting down on her bottom lip to try and keep her composure… But fuck, did you make it difficult…

Abby could feel her orgasm creeping up on her as she rode your face, tugging on your hair and shivering with pleasure that simply coursed over her entire body. And even though you were the one drinking her cunt, she was the one that felt like she was drowning. Her eyes rolled back, swear words tumbling from her mouth and filling the van that was one good thrust away from losing a damn wheel.

“Fuck, ngh, fuck… Fuck, go back, baby… Lick my clit just like before—” You immediately did as she told you, and Abby huffed with pleasure. “Just like that… shit, just like that babygirl… just… fucking leave him, baby… leave his stupid ass and be mine.”

You heard what she said, but it didn’t register… You kept licking at her clit and sucked on it every few seconds before flicking it hard with the tip of your tongue, sending her crashing into the most vulgar climax of her entire life. She chanted countless swear words over and over again as she chased her high against your face, coming closer and closer to falling apart on top of you.

Abby tossed her body forward and squeezed your face with her inner thighs, smushing your cheeks together before she bit her lip and tried to hold in her sounds but it became fucking impossible with you. “Fuck! Fuck! Don’t you fucking dare stop! Don’t. Fucking. Stop! C-Cumming… fuuuuck, m’cumming baby!”

Abby sounded so fucking wild whenever she would climax, and it made you horny all over again. Her hips twitched and pushed down into your face and you opened your mouth wide, lapping at her liquids that drooled out of her and onto your tongue. Her taste was fucking addictive, and she had to literally pry your hands off her legs in order to pull her pussy away from your mouth.

Your face was soaked from the bridge of your nose down to your chin, glistening with her arousal. You licked your lips and reached up to grab her by the front of her shirt and yanked her down, pressing your lips against hers. Abby groaned on your mouth and pushed her tongue in, drinking in her taste on your mouth and basking in everything that was you.

Another thing she had that Dylan sure fucking didn’t… her lips were so fucking soft and she tasted so, so good…

Both of you never addressed what she said, and when you stumbled out of her van and through the backdoor of the church to clean yourself up in the bathroom, you could hardly keep your knees from wobbling. Bruises were forming on your ass in the shape of her hands, and you rubbed your fingers across the marks, blushing at just remembering who gave them to you…

Abby found your panties in her front pocket when she got home, and she couldn’t stop from smelling them. Fuck, you smelled so fucking pretty; she’s never wanted someone more in her entire life than she wants you all of the damn time.

Even during the week, she was on your mind. You couldn’t shake her off. Abby was like a leech that you grew attached to and now its simply just apart of you. She fed off you, and you liked it that way. Abby liked playing your secret lover, but she would much rather be your one and only.

Fear of disownment had you paralyzed. You wanted nothing more than to tell your parents that you were happy, but with a woman. Abby was everything you could ever need…

“Fuck… Abby… Abby, ohmygod, Abby…” Your whimper echoed through the empty house, your parents gone for the afternoon. You were quick to invite Abby over, and she had you laying down on your bed in literal seconds, legs spread and tongue lapping at your pussy faster than you expected a human being to be able to lick.

The sounds of her eating your pussy echoed off the walls of your bedroom, your hands fisted in her long blonde hair that fell down her shoulders in soft waves due to always being in a braid. You loved her hair, and Abby loved it when you pulled on it, her eyes rolling back as she slobbered all over your cunt in the most explicit, wet, messy display ever.

Abby ate pussy like a woman starved! All tongue and lips, slurping and drooling, creating the biggest wet spot on your sheets and squeezing your thighs with her huge hands. You loved how messy she got, watching as she pulled back with her tongue hanging down, a thick string of saliva connecting her mouth to your pussy. She smirks, reaching down with one hand to slap your clit before she dives back down and immediately starts licking you without a care in the world.

You chanted her name, each time growing louder and louder. You always got so close so fast when Abby was eating you out… You were so close…

The sound of your phone ringing had you tensing up and Abby simply glanced up from your cunt, not stopping her movements even a little. Your hands shakingly grabbed at the phone, seeing Dylan’s picture appear on the screen. Your heart began to beat faster, gently swatting at Abby’s head.

“F-fuck, fuck, stop, wait,” You begged, watching her roll her eyes before she pulled back, rubbing her face against the inside of your thigh and watching how shaky your hands were when you answered the phone with a forced neutral expression. Of course, your flushed face was a dead giveaway to anyone else.

“H-Hey, baby, what’s up?” You said breathlessly. Abby rolled her eyes, kissing up and down your thighs as your boyfriend spoke on the other end of the phone. A hearty giggle erupted from your throat, and you responded. “N-No, I’m fine! Just uh… went for a run! Yeah, that’s all, don’t worry…”

Your face immediately brightened, and you looked down to see Abby slowly rubbing at your entire pussy with her hand, biting your inner thigh and basking in the expression you had on your face. You fell back on the bed and huffed, trying not to moan into the receiver as you listened to Dylan.

“To…Tonight? I-I-I’m not… not sure about that baby… I have a… fuck, assignment due… t-tomorrow,” You struggled to keep your noises neutral, biting down on your knuckle as Abby began to slowly ease her middle and ring finger inside of you. You bit down so hard that you left a bruise behind on your finger. “N-No! Y-You don’t h…have to come over… m’fine… t-totally fine…”

Abby was having none of your shit, and before you could prepare yourself, she grabbed your hip and slammed herself knuckle deep into your pussy. The sound you made was so loud that she was sure EUROPE heard you! Your eyes crossed in your head, and you yanked on the bed sheets above your head, completely abandoning your phone call for a second. Dylan asked you what happened, and you were quick to cover it up. “I’m okay! I’m o-okay, baby… j..just hit my arm, t-that’s all… fuck me…”

With a smirk, Abby immediately complied, spreading your legs a bit wider before she began to fuck you on her fingers like it was her damn birthright. Her digits were so thick and strong, hitting every single sweet spot inside of you and making you purr like a kitten for her. Pleasure raced down your spine and you whimpered into your hand, masking your noises as Dylan continued to say whatever the fuck he was saying, you weren’t listening.

“Fucking give me that,” Abby snapped, reaching for the phone and hanging up on him. Your eyes widened and you reached for the phone, but Abby tossed it to the far side of the bed before wrapping a hand around your neck and shoving you into the bed. Her pace picked up to brutal levels and you gasped against her movements. “I’m done, princess… Fucking done sharing you with him.”

“A-Abby, you… fuck…” The look in her eyes was wild as she pushed in a third finger and you reached out to grab the muscle on her shoulders, her hair creating a curtain around your face as she destroyed you.

“Say it,” Abby snarled. “Fucking leave him. You’re mine. You’re mine… you’re fucking mine!”

“Yours!” You cried out, rolling your whole body up against hers and digging your nails into her back. Abby bent down and began to kiss your face, trailing them down to your neck and latching her lips against the flesh of your throat. You groaned as she stretched out your pussy and left an absurd amount of hickies on your neck.

“No one… can fuck you like I do,” Abby rubbed your clit with her thumb as her fingers stroked your inner walls, making you see stars behind your eyes. “No one can kiss you like I do… no one can love you like I do…”

“Yours, Abby,” You whimpered, pushing your face into her neck, grinding down against her hand as you chased your orgasm on her thick digits, desperate to cum for her, and for her alone. “I’m yours… Only you… please, don’t stop! Please, so close…”

“Come on princess… my pretty girl, fucking cum for me…”

And you did exactly that. Your whole body shook with euphoria, and you raked your nails down her back, nearly drawing blood as you reached your high and squeezed around her fingers, liquid slowly gushing from your cunt and drenching her hands. Abby kissed your neck, and then your lips, tears tracking her face.

Finally… she finally had you…

It was made official with one text.

Dylan almost had a fucking heart attack at the photo an unknown number sent him. It was you, sprawled out on the bed, covered in hickies from your neck down to your chest, drool dripping from your lips with one very veiny hand and massive forearm holding you by the throat. You had a stupidly happy grin on your face and your cheeks were tinted with a deep pink blush from either overexertion or embarrassment. And on your stomach, there was something literally carved into your flesh, blood dripping from the fresh wound… it was an A.

There was only one block of text to accompany the picture.

She’s mine now, asshole.

[tadfools]

I saw a post that was like ‘these are the cars the bg3 companions would have’ but they were all rich people shit so here’s my version just for funzies

Shadowheart has a Subaru and if you know why then you know why. There’s a moon sun catcher hanging from the review mirror and on the back there’s one of those coexist bumper stickers (it was there when she bought it but she doesn’t take it off cause it might damage the paint under it)

Karlach has her mom’s old beat up a Honda Civic. It starts rattling if it goes over 90, one of the seatbelt is being held together with duct tape, it smells like crayons, and the check engine light is always on. But good god is it going to get you where you need to go

Halsin has a jeep Liberty/Cherokee, it’s always covered in mud and it smells like a wet dog…. He doesn’t have a dog

Lae’zel has a Volkswagen bug. It’s small, dignified, economical even! (Kinda)

Wyll had a Toyota pickup from the 90’s. It’s not much but it was the first car he bought that wasn’t with his dad’s money, he loves it like a son. It’s name is Alberto

Rich kid Gale would drive a 68 mustang if he ever left the house. I love the man but he would be one of those people who has a fancy car just to say he has a fancy car and doesn’t have the first clue on how to take care of it

Jaheria has half a dozen kids at any given moment and has a minivan. Yes, she does have one of those stick figure family window decals. There’s a soccer ball sized dent on the passenger door

Minsc has a mini cooper. A mini cooper that has more scratches and dings than it should but a mini cooper nonetheless. It got left in the sun way too long and has one of those fading spots on the roof.

Astarion is the proud owner of a Prius. Her name is Natalie

Also Withers’ has the car from that 70’s show

[smoketransformer]

A Life on the Road

Harry Hamner had a lot going for him, but it wasn’t enough. After recently being accepted to a very prestigious medical school, he started having doubts. Was the life of a doctor, just like his parents, one that he really wanted?

Harry had always fantasized a life as a truck driver. He would be able to travel the country without a care in the world. Sure, sitting all day probably wasn’t the healthiest - but he didn’t care. He wanted to live his life the way he wanted it and he could do that on the road.

One morning, Harry woke up to the sound of a loud horn. At first, he tried to ignore it but it was consistent and close. Harry got up from his bed and looked out the window. He saw a massive semi truck parked in the driveway. There was no trailer on it, but it still looked huge.

Confused, he quickly threw on a flannel and jeans and went outside to check it out and look for the owner.

He approached the truck and didn’t see the driver. The truck was beautiful. He was painted black, but had streaks that looked like wisps of smoke around. There was a decal on the the driver side door that read “Big Ol’ Smoke Trucking Co.”

He opened the door and a thought - no, an urge - came across him. He should sit in the driver seat, just for a minute, to see how it was sitting behind the wheel. He always wanted this opportunity.

Harry climbed up and sat in the seat. It was both new and familiar. It was where he belonged. The keys were in the ignition. He wanted to hear the engine roar, so he turned them. The engine came to life with such power.

Without even thinking, Harry shifted the truck into reverse and pulled out of the driveway. He was a natural, as if he was driving large rigs for most of his life.

He shifted it into drive and drove down the road. He didn’t know where he was going, but he drove like he did.

It felt like he was driving for just a few minutes, but it actually was for hours. He turned the radio on to the old country music station; he usually liked current pop, but this just fit the mood.

He made it out of the city and was driving past acres of crops. He was driving the speed limit, but noticed some flashing blue and red lights behind him.

“Shit,” he said to himself. The truck was probably reported as stolen and this dream would end for him. He pulled over and stopped the truck. The sheriff car behind him parked behind him.

The sheriff approached the cab. He was wearing a large hat and dark aviator glass. He sported a very thick, black mustache and had a large billiard pipe sticking out of his mouth.

“Is there a problem, sheriff?” Harry sheepishly asked.

“Reports of a missing truck. One like this,” the deep voice of the sheriff replied, “License and registration.”

Harry tried to act casual by reaching over to the glove box on the passenger side. He opened it up and noticed a light brown pipe and a pouch of tobacco. He pulled it out.

“Pipe smoker as well?” the sheriff asked, with his pipe still clinched in his teeth.

“Ummm…yeah,” Harry lied, thinking maybe the sheriff would let him off easy as a fellow pipe smoker. He set the pipe and pouch on the passenger seat and grabbed the license with registration.

“Not many of us around anymore, real smokin’ men,” the sheriff added as Harry handed him the paperwork. Harry didn’t know what was on it, but was hoping it would pass.

The sheriff looked at it, still smoking his pipe. The smoke smelled nice, Harry thought. To sell the lie that he was also a pipe smoker, he grabbed the pipe. He noticed it was already packed with tobacco and placed it in his mouth. He wasn’t going to light it though, but thought this was enough pass as a smoker.

“Got turned around, I think,” Harry said between the pipe in his teeth, “This was to Duvall, right?”

“Sure is,” the sheriff confirmed, “Picking up a load there?”

“Sure am,” Harry answered.

“More than a day’s drive though. There is a truck stop on the way though. Sure you’ll find it,” the sheriff added as he handed the paperwork back, “Everything checks out, Harold. You can go on your way. Have a nice day.”

Harold? Nobody ever calls him by his birth name, not even his parents. How did the sheriff know his name?

“Umm, yeah. You too, Sheriff,” Harry said as the sheriff walked off and he was looking at the paperwork.

His license had his birth name: “Harold Hamner” and birthday: “September 23”; but that was the only thing correct. It said the year he was born was 1963, making him 60 years old. His weight was also at 285 pounds, when he was actually 160. His photo was also not of him, but of a heavy old man with a balding head and large grey mustache. How did this pass the sheriff’s inspection? But that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it did pass.

The sheriff drove past him as he started the truck back up. Harry continued down the road, without realizing the pipe was still in his mouth.

He continued down the road and onward to the town of Duvall. He started singing along to the radio with the pipe still in his mouth. It was the first time hearing most of these old country songs, but he somehow knew every word. He had almost forgotten that the load he had to pick up in the town was a made up story, but he still was heading there.

Harry was enjoying every minute of his journey. He was so much that he didn’t notice he started puffing away at the pipe in his jaw. He didn’t recall lighting it, but it somehow was starting to release smoke.

Harry thought the smoke tasted nice and smelled wonderful. He could get use to this. He even started inhaling a bit. It wasn’t harsh on his lungs; in fact, it was soothing and relaxing.

Harry was so in tuned to this way of life, he didn’t notice that he was building some fat on him. It was as if he had been sitting in the driver seat everyday for the past several years, eating only the greasiest of diner food. His hair was also thinning and he sprouted a short mustache. The cab of the truck was starting to get hazy from his constant pipe smoking.

He probably didn’t notice these changes because thoughts of him doing this for the past 10 years flooded his mind. To him, this was just who he was and has been.

Another 10 miles went by and another 10 years gone in Harry’s mind. Harry was stuck in thought as he puffed on his pipe. He couldn’t believe that he had been driving this truck for 20 years. He loved his career as a truck driver. He could smoke all day, sit on his fat ass, snack all he wanted and enjoy the views.

Harry’s hair had started falling out only on the top of his head and his clothes were getting tight. His fatty double chin was protruding and scrunched against his shirt. His mustache now bushier and smelling of tobacco smoke.

It was starting to get dark as Harry was pulling into the truck stop. An old man like himself had to get some rest before his next day of driving. After driving for 40 years, he knew it was best to take breaks in the evening.

He parked and pulled off his flannel since it was just way too tight on him. Luckily he had a large tank top behind his seat that he put on. His skin was wrinkly and his hair was grey, almost white. The only bit of color was yellow nicotine stain in his mustache since his pipe never left his mouth.

He struggled to get out of his seat due to his size. He waddled to the truck stop bathroom, leaving a trail of smoke, when he noticed the sheriff.

The sheriff’s car was parked and the owner was leaning against the side, with his arms crossed, dark sunglasses hiding most of his face and pipe clenched tightly in his saw.

Smoke poured from the sheriff’s mouth when he said, “Glad you found your way, Harold.”

Harold’s voice, deepened by his age and years of smoking, replied “Me too, Sheriff. Me too.”

[strwbrychffoncke]

"walking in a winter wonderland,, 3.1k words synopsis: an evening date w doctor zayne leads to a stroll through the winter snowfall of linkon contains: zayne x reader (afab reader in mind but theres close to no phys desc tbh) ,fluff fluff fluff fluff fluffff ,petnames (reader is called 'miss hunter' twice) ,playful bantering ,(attempts at) zayne dry humor ,keeping zaynes sweet tooth in check ,cute stroll in the snow ,looots of hand holding ,snowman moment ,kisses ,suggestive ending ,that's all i can think of rn :x note: i meant to release this like last wk but the writing was not writing.... i literally had to stop myself from writing for raf or greyson instead bc i said id release zayne help.. this is like an accumulation of five diff drafts into one so i hope it came out well?? please enjoy....

quiet.

it's quiet in the early evening when you step out of your apartment, sighting zayne's car parked right out front, said man promptly exiting the drivers side in favor of making his way to the passenger door as you walk the short path towards him.

he's clad in casual slacks, a turtleneck sweater and his dark trench coat, offering a small smile as you close the short distance before opening the car door for you.

"are you my driver for tonight?"

his eyes glint with playfulness.

"ive come to retrieve a miss hunter for the night. might that be you?"

you giggle.

"my chauffeur bares a striking resemblance to a certain renowned doctor zayne." you take a step closer. "do you know him?" you tilt your head in question, a questioning look adorning your face.

he takes your hand in his.

"i have no idea who you're talking about."

you feign a pout.

"well, i happen to be quite close with him."

"is that so?"

"yeah," you nod, looking off to the side, bringing your pointer finger to the corner of your lips before continuing.

"—so, im not so sure he would appreciate a stranger holding my hand..." you trail off, slowly beginning to slip your trapped hand out of his grasp, only for him to tighten his hold.

"well..."

he pulls it up to his lips.

"i'm zayne. it's a good thing that i'm no stranger" he emphasizes the last word, planting a soft kiss on the back of your hand, gaze holding yours while he does so.

you laugh again, heart full at the gesture.

a small smile pulls at his lips again at the sound before he helps you inside the car (not that you really need it, but as a gesture of his love for you, you allow him to treat you like a princess).

once he's situated back in the drivers side beginning to take off, you prompt him.

"so, where are we headed this evening, doctor?"

"that, is a secret" he answers simply.

you put on a thoughtful expression.

"hmm... are you sure you're not kidnapping me?"

a playful smirk ghosts his lips.

"it seems you've found yourself in quite the predicament haven't you, miss hunter?"

before you can respond, he reaches for your hand again, gripping it firmly.

"how will you escape?"

you hum in thought for a moment before turning your head to fully look at him.

"i'm not so sure that i want to."

the car stops at a red light, and he takes the opportunity to meet your gaze.

"good," his smirk fully stretches across his face now. "i wasn't planning on letting you go anyway."

-

the place in question turned out to be your favorite restaurant.

given the season, both the interior and exterior were decorated with colorful festive lights with cute winter themed decals hanging on the long windows.

(when you pointed out a cute snowman and asked zayne why they had a decal of him, he shot back that despite how it looked, you were as cold to the touch as a snowman before wrapping his scarf around you).

for the time, the restaurant was surprisingly not too busy, granting a cozy atmosphere in the dim lights, a pretty candle lighting up your table for two with small decorations of snow-covered trees in the center.

after pleasant conversation, hushed laughs and plenty of playful bantering over dinner, you advised against zayne ordering any dessert in favor of checking out a new cafe that had recently opened nearby.

(and that just so happened to be a source of both you and zayne's curiosity, but you each unknowingly refrained from visiting on your own in favor of trying it for the first time together).

at the sound of dessert, zayne was quick to pay for the meal (shutting down any argument you may have had at splitting the bill with a simple "nonsense" as he handed his card to the waitress) before ushering you out in what appeared to be haste but you knew was excitement, grasping your hand and walking the short distance through the cold towards the cafe.

-

the little jingle of the bell above the door is light as zayne opens it for you, hand on the small of your back as he leads you in first before following close behind you.

you're welcomed by the cheery voice of the cashier before you both take a look around.

upon entry, there's small shelves to the right of the entrance featuring different types of freshly baked and individually wrapped breads, more shelves against the rightmost wall that feature things from cookies to tarts to even small cakes in a cooler right beside them, and small counters in the center of the floor with featured seasonal items that are cutely displayed around a small christmas tree. to the left of the place is a small seating area, and straight ahead is a large hanging menu behind the cashier with drink options, among other made-to-order desserts.

there don't seem to be many customers at this hour aside from you and zayne, a couple of guests enjoying their desserts at the seating area and one browsing the options. the atmosphere is homey and welcoming, the scents of everything making the place smell absolutely divine.

after taking everything in, you and zayne begin browsing around at the various options displayed, taking a look at what they have and coming up with ideas of what you'd like to get.

as you slowly eye each shelf, carefully surveying every option, you try your best to settle on only two things while simultaneously trying to rationalize buying more because they look too good, there's no way you won't eat them all!

wanting a momentary respite from your inner turmoil, you take a peek at zayne only to let out an amused laugh at his troubled expression, already knowing the inward struggle he must be facing.

even so, you walk up to him, a teasing smile painting your lips.

"have you decided what you'll be getting, doctor?"

he doesn't answer right away, standing at a spot close by the register as he stares between the rows of displayed strawberry desserts, eyes deeply concentrated, a loosely clenched hand held up just under his lips in thought.

"hmm..."

you take a step closer to the display case, one of the various cakes catching your attention.

"oooh, that one looks sooo good!"

zayne looks up at the cashier behind the counter.

"how much for one of everything?"

the cashier visibly startles at the inquiry.

"sorry?"

"zayne!"

at the sound of his name, he looks down at you.

"is something the matter?"

"you are not buying one of everything."

the way his expression morphs from serious to genuinely perplexed is so comical you almost let a laugh slip through your pointed façade.

"why not?" the tone of his voice comes out almost sad.

"because," you take a step closer to him this time. "that's way too much sugar for just one person!"

"the last time i checked, i didn't come into this building alone, did i?"

"that's-"

the cashier, a witness to the bantering, smiles to herself before deciding to speak up again.

"please let me know if you need any help!"

suddenly remembering the audience of one, you feel embarrassed, giving a short nod and a sheepish "thank you" before she goes to check on nearby displays, removing some or rearranging other various sweets.

zayne's attention is still on you.

"well?"

you blink.

"what?"

"surely the both of us can-"

"zayne, i am not letting you buy one of every dessert in here."

the rest of his words die on his lips, and he frowns.

"have it your way."

knowing he would deny it to all hell, you decide against pointing out the very dejected pout he wears in response to your declaration as he goes back to browsing the shelves, the serious look in his eyes returning as he internally struggles to narrow down what he'd like.

. . .

in the end, you settled on the idea of each buying three desserts you wanted to try the most (since their opening special of buy two get one free was active) and sharing them with each other so that you could both have a taste of more items.

(despite this, zayne still picked a total of six items, claiming that the prices were quite exceptional, and that it was "okay to indulge every once in awhile." before you could protest, he had already paid and made his way to a nearby table, wordlessly expecting you to follow).

and though you didn't want to feed into his satisfaction, you had to agree that the amount of desserts he had picked was justified as those turned out to be your favorites (and he quickly finished his other options, only after allowing you a taste first).

. . .

by the time you both exited the bakery, you're met with the sight of snow, ground crunching beneath you as the delicate snowflakes continue their pleasant descent before piling onto the ground.

your eyes are wide, excitement glimmering within them, even when the cold flakes sprinkling over you draw out a shiver from you.

"look zayne, it's snowing!"

"indeed."

his lips curl up, but he's not looking at the snow.

instead, he's gazing at you, a fond adoration in his eyes as he stares at your expression.

you are so precious to him.

before he can suggest getting you out of the cold, you grab his hand, gazing at him.

"let's walk around!"

"and let you catch a cold?" he raises an eyebrow.

you playfully scoff.

"i'll have you know, my immune system is amazing!" you defend.

he offers an unimpressed look.

"i suppose that explains why i had to nurse you back to health the last time you were out in the cold, then?"

"come on, please??? just for a little bit!"

when you beg like that, looking the way that you do, he feels himself weaken.

he never had any intention of denying you of your wishes, anyway.

"alright." he nods.

you let out a small cheer in triumph.

"but..."

he removes a pair of mittens from his coat pocket, handing one of them to you.

"since someone didn't think to bring their own."

you pout but take it from him.

"yeah? and what about my other hand??" you tease, slipping the oversized glove on one hand before holding your other one up and wriggling your fingers to emphasize your point.

wordlessly, he takes a hold of it, pausing your movements in the process as he pulls it towards his lips to blow warm air onto it, never breaking eye contact with you.

"i'll just have to ensure you stay warm another way. "

he lowers your hand still in his, properly intertwining his fingers with yours.

his voice lowers.

"dont let go."

then he leans close to your ear, whispering.

"doctor's orders."

his voice comes out in a deep rumble, almost commanding, your heart fluttering helplessly at the tone.

feeling shy, you aren't given a chance to respond before he begins leading you down the sidewalk, taking in the scenery of the decorative lights encasing almost every nearby building or tree, casting a light glow over the ever falling snow.

though for awhile, your attention is more focused on your intertwined hands and zayne's handsome face than the scenery before you both.

-

eventually reaching an open area, you quickly take note of the amount of snow piled on the ground, breaking away from zayne's hold, telling him that "a snowman is just asking to be created here!"

he watches in amusement as you scurry around, rolling the snow into three big balls before piling them onto each other and then searching for anything that can be used to create a face.

after several minutes, you take a couple of steps back, excitedly revealing the finished product to zayne.

"ta-da!"

he stares at the snowman who seems to be staring right back at him.

"pfft.... zayne-"

"is that... supposed to be me?"

the snowman in question resembles the various snowmen plushies you have piled at home who, you've joked, resemble zayne quite well, and "are so warm and cozy to cuddle when you're away on business or have a late shift at the hospital, you know!" according to you.

except, for this particular snowman, you've wrapped a scarf around its neck— the same scarf zayne wrapped around yours earlier— granting it his style as well.

zayne lets out a sigh before walking up to the snowman, reaching out to grab the scarf before you stop him.

"wait! a picture- i have to take a picture first!"

you fish into your pocket with your ungloved, trembling hand (almost numb from the cold and playing in the snow) as zayne pauses, turning to you and watching you struggle with a deadpan expression.

"if we stay out here any longer, your hand might end up falling off."

you manage to pull your phone out, opening it to the camera app.

"good thing i have a surgeon who can easily reattach it for me~!"

he sighs again.

"take it quickly."

you face the camera to zayne and the snowman, taking a photo of them side-by-side before stepping closer and taking one of all three of you, posing cutely while zayne stares unamused the entire time.

"ok, got it! lets go now-"

as you lower your arm, your phone slips from your shivering grasp and into the plush snow below.

before you can go to retrieve it, zayne leans down, plucking it out, wiping it with his coat before placing it back into your pocket for you.

"thank you," you breathe out, a grateful smile stretching across your lips.

he suddenly leans closer to you, causing your breath to hitch.

"you've got snow..."

his hand reaches up, brushing snow from the top of your head.

he moves his hand down the side of your face, lingering there for a moment before cupping your cheek.

"zayne?"

even when you're freezing like this, you look ethereal under the snowflakes that continue to dance around you, hair a little messy from the chilly wind, eyes shining from the decorative lights nearby, parted lips slightly chapped from the cold and breaths visible thanks to the chill.

he suddenly leans forward, lips easily melding with yours.

words are never needed when everything zayne wishes to say is relayed in his kiss: deep in the way that he loves you, sweet from the desserts you'd shared, loving in his loyalty to you, passionate in that you were his, and he was yours.

in this moment, under the glittered night sky, snowflakes catching in your hair and clothes, surrounded by the soft lights of the festive city, you and zayne seemed to be lost in your own personal winter wonderland reserved for two.

he breaks the kiss shortly, grasping your cold hand in his once more.

"you've had your fun. let's get you someplace warm."

you blink up at him, speechless from the kiss and offering a nod instead, allowing him to quickly lead you back to the car.

he situates you in first before slipping into the drivers seat, quickly turning on the car and clicking the heater on. while it slowly starts up, he retrieves his scarf from his coat (that you didn't see him nab from his snowman-self) and wraps it around your hands.

"to warm them up quicker," he reasons.

"oh? are you sure this isn't your way of restraining me from escaping back into the snow?"

he puts the car in drive before he goes to respond.

"if i had been concerned about that, i assure you i would have tied your hands securely."

wanting to push him some more, you wriggle a hand out from the scarf.

"it appears im free~ what will you do if i try to escape?"

in a single motion, your hand is enveloped by his, holding it down against the small glove box between your seats.

"this."

you wriggle your fingers playfully as you feign trying to escape, only causing his grip to tighten slightly.

"stay still," he speaks softly, yet again in that commanding voice that urges you to comply.

"or are you that eager to learn how surgeons tie knots?"

-

when you both return home (to zaynes place, under his insistence that it was closer, and you loved any excuse to spend more time with him), zayne almost immediately goes to start the flames of the fireplace after shedding you both of your snow covered coats, leading you to sit comfortably in front of it first.

"feel better?"

"yes," you sigh in relief, hands held out towards the flames. "i didn't realize how cold i really was!"

"well, i imagine standing out in the cold and playing in the snow will do that to you. "

you huff out a breath at his response, laying down on the fluffy carpet, peering at him upside-down.

"there's nothing wrong with having a little fun," you refute.

looking at you splayed out in his home like this— light of the dancing flames setting a pretty glow along your figure, hair spread out under you, expression playful from your remark yet satisfied from the warmth, shirt riding up slightly to reveal some of your midriff— along with all of the teasing remarks tonight finally catches up with him, his demeanor changing into something a little darker as he closes the distance, taking the spot beside you.

"but there is something wrong with disobedience."

"huh?" you blink at the man now beside you in question.

"zayne, what-"

he grabs your hand (still held out towards the flames), pinning it down and shifting himself so he's half hovering over you.

"well, when a patient doesn't follow doctors orders, they'll have to pay the price."

you feel your face heating up from the growing tension.

"what are you-"

he squeezes the hand he's holding down.

"you let go of my hand earlier."

"that's-"

your eyes widen in realization.

he suddenly leans down, planting a kiss right atop your pulse point, causing the rest of your words to die on your lips.

"it seems i have to discipline a certain naughty patient who has a streak of disobeying professional orders."

he crashes his lips onto yours in a hungry kiss that you can't help but to completely submit to.

and true to his word, the fireplace was not the only thing warming your bodies in the face of the worsening blizzard outside, breaths mingling with one another in the comfort of the living room, both escaping to your own world for two, pleasure overflowing between the both of you.

after all, the doctor couldn't have you getting sick on his watch, could he?

-

a/n: this took way longer than i thought but once i got the sequence of events in order it slowly started to come together.... js yday the draft was at 1.3k words now the number is flipped.... i love my doctor zayne what can i say :x

*mostly edited but i edit late at night so ill check over for any errors again later*

i could not for the life of me figure out the "proper" word for the storage box between the front seats of a car so its called a glove box pls spare me....

[ronearoundblindly]

Hideout (2)

touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel employee!Reader

Sweet Baby (see previous or series)

Summary: 'Grant' becomes comfortable enough to tell you who he is, and you get comfortable enough to show him the kindness he deserves.

Warnings for description of minor blood/injury and light smut (mentions of morning wood, dry humping, hair pulling, praise kink? maybe coached orgasm?). This series is 18+ only. MINORS DNI. There is plenty else for you youngins to read on my Light Masterlist, but this is not for you! WC 2.6k

Warmer months are for updating the rooms, so they are on a rotation of renovation. There are really busy times and really slow times based on events in town, but there’s an understanding with Grant’s ‘party’ of friends that, if needed, they can stay in the room closed for repair. It’s not as if any room is uninhabitable when they need a coat of paint and some plumbing tune-ups.

Clark doesn’t remember you told him about this—you used the excuse that Grant ’s company are handymen (and women) who come in between other jobs,—so the front desk kid calls you while you’re out running errands one day.

Two ‘dudes’ want to stay in room eight on the end. So? Let them. Those are the people who fix things. Clark just says “kay.”

When you pull into the lot hours later, you don’t expect to find Grant sitting on the curb, filthy and exhausted in some gym clothes, a plastic bag set at his feet.

“Wha’ch’a waiting for?” you call with the window down, hoping his spirits can lift easily.

Grant peers up at you through long lashes. He’s had a knock-down drag-out with a field of bramble…or something. That’s when you notice dark, dried blood in the grime stuck to him, and he lets out a long sigh.

“Sa—Tom used all the hot water,” he huffs, “so I’m biding my time.”

Their room’s water tank, the one due for maintenance, is going to take an eternity to reheat, and it’s the worst luck that there really are no other rooms available.

“Hop on in. You can use the bath up at the house.”

He looks just as startled as you by the invitation, but in no simple terms can you express how bad it is to have a huge guy covered in blood hanging out in front of your rural motel. That’s horror movie bait.

You know Grant. You trust him. All he needs is to clean himself up.

He checks behind him again. The same mix of seeking approval or seeking the cover of ignorance returns to his pretty features, and he trots over to the passenger seat of the car, plastic bag in hand.

He helps you bring in the groceries and supplies from town even though you point him in the direction of the upstairs bathroom immediately. There’s a big jacuzzi tub in there, and he is welcome to soak for however long he wants. You’ll even wash his clothes in the mean time, if he’d like.

Grant seems hesitant to accept or argue.

You press on.

Showing him where everything is in the bathroom takes a minute. You fish around a cupboard for the muscle-relaxing milk additive, explaining it may help him…if needed. You don’t know what’s happened, so you’re flying blind for options.

When the tap turns off ten minutes later, silence descends, but he never handed you stuff to wash. You knock and try the door, just to crack it open so he can hear you.

First, you notice the color of the water. He used the milk bath alright, but whatever washed immediately off him has saturated and soured the clean white into a rusty tan. Second, you pick up the pile of clothes and find more in the plastic bag, except…it’s a suit with a star decal half-ripped and dangling from the chest. Third, you realize you can’t see him in the water at all, not his feet, not his head, no bubbles, so you rush in and shove your hands beneath the surface.

He shoots up in alarm, gasping and sloshing to a different wide, rounded corner of porcelain.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you shriek, hands out and spread wide. “I just thought—I don’t know—I didn’t know if you’d—sorry!”

He rubs his hands down his face and over his dripping hair. He doesn’t even speak; he just waves for you to stop apologizing and clears water shot up his nose.

You have to collapse to the fuzzy rug and hold your heart before it beats right out of your ribcage. You still repeat “sorry” a few more times and then manage an impressed “wow, you kept all the water in.”

He thunks his head back to the lip of the tub and props up one leg, his knee cresting the surface. “I have a talent…”

The dirt, despite how much clearly came off already, is smeared grossly across him.

He looks so tired.

“May I—“ you grab the shampoo bottle all the way at his feet “—help?”

Defeated in more ways than one, he nods through the same concerned and confused gaze that’s become his signature. He maneuvers nearer you while you carefully wet your hands, starting a lather. His head stays down, spine exposed, as you massage at the base of his skull.

His eyes shut.

Your heart now swells with accomplishment; you gave this man a moment of peace.

Fingers gliding over the sinewy, tight bands beneath soft hairs, you press circles around and around his scalp. He cranes backwards while you move up and over the crown of his head, and by just above his ears, he’s laying his full weight in the water, lax against the rim.

You keep going long after his hair is strictly clean, though you’ll recommend he rinse after soaking because the water is too foul to count on.

He remains quiet, so you dip your hands in the water at his shoulders, shake them about, and move on to scrubbing his face clean, too, working down from the hairline and over his beard.

Somewhere around his throat, the man sniffs.

He sniffs again, raising a hand from the water to stop yours.

“My name isn’t…” His eyes open finally, only to stare blankly at the ceiling. “My name is Steve.”

“Okay,” you say, abandoning the washing to sit back on the mat again. “Do you want me to call you that or Grant?”

He turns, brows furrowed, and in the most authoritative voice, he replies, “you can’t tell anyone.”

You rest your chin on the lip of the tub, too. “I know. I won’t.”

Eyes locked, you two stare at each other for a long beat.

“The Captain America suit kinda gave it away though,” you whisper, and to your surprise and delight, Steve flicks water at you in retaliation.

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, “handle yourself in here while I go start the laundry.”

You stretch and almost—almost—kiss his forehead because, for whatever reason, that feels right, but at the last second you tuck your head down, acting like you were just standing up. You can’t bring yourself to look back at him while gathering the clothes.

You keep busy downstairs, scrubbing at a few spots of caked on muck, trying not to listen to the sounds of splashing, the squeaking as he moves around, the rush of the draining bath, and the tap turning back on to rinse him again. You scramble to find the biggest t-shirt and pair of pants you own (although, come to think of it, Steve’s got fairly small hips, so you grab some stretchy sweats) and hand them through the door when realizing he has nothing else to wear.

He emerges with several visible cuts and scrapes but dismisses your offer to treat them.

“It’s not worth the effort. They’ll be gone by morning.”

You’ve decided something: if he doesn’t bring it up, you won’t either.

Whatever he wants to tell you, whenever he wants to tell it, you don’t ask. You are used to keeping guests’ confidence—not that anyone tells you deep, dark secrets, but you refuse to gossip about cleanliness or things in the trash—and ‘Grant’ will be no different.

You can, however, still tease him.

“Ready to share that queen bed with Tom?” You give his beefy arm a playful punch.

Steve groans.

“Kidding,” you beam. “I’m not making you walk that path in the dark right now. An elk could get ya!”

He pinches tired eyes, a ghost of a smirk realigning the hairs of his beard. You imagine that on any other day, he would put up more of a fight, but he’s fought enough.

“Yeah, okay. As long as I won’t scare the daylights out of your parents by being on the couch in the morning.” Steve steps over to the landing at the top of the stairs.

“They’re at a hospitality conference. I run the place…mostly. Besides, what kind of host would I be if I didn’t offer you a bed that fits you?” You dramatically bow and indicate your room. “This way, please, sir.”

Good thing he has no fight left in him. His eyes narrow adorably, but he doesn’t budge.

“I should let Tom know.”

“There is a phone in there, too. I’ll dial room eight.”

You get him some water, hanging his clothes to dry, offering as much privacy as you can in an old house with thin walls.

“Yeah, hi, it’s…yes, yes, I’m… Yeah, I know. I know, Sam, just—you don’t have to laugh about it. She let me use the bath, is all. You’re the one who—Well, don’t take all the damn wa—hello? Hello?” Steve is staring at the receiver of the land line when you appear in the doorway. “Uh, he…gets it.”

He sits on the edge of your bed, glancing around your neither childish nor sterile room. You put the glass down on your side table instead of handing it to him.

“Okay, I think you need rest,” you add, sweeping your hand down his bare arm.

You marvel at how the edges of his cuts are already shrinking, knitting back together in near-realtime. Your fingertips trace around the skin like an interactive roadmap.

First heal this, then he needs this, and this is deeper here.

You wonder whether he feels pain the same as everyone else. Is it dulled? Does he just have to ignore how much and how frequently he hurts because it goes away sooner? That’s a sad thought to you. Just because he’ll be okay, doesn’t mean he should suffer more.

He’s a miracle. As Grant, Steve, Cap, or nobody at all, he’s still a miracle.

“You don’t have to go…”

The last of the evening blurs as you wake, but you remember Steve needed this. He asked you to stay.

Spooning is the only way to fit on the bed together. After finishing your own bedtime routing, you began behind the giant man, curled tight, lightly scratching over his broad shoulders and arms. He fell asleep so quickly, and you don’t recall how long after that you both turned over. You had to drape Steve’s awkward arm around you, show him he could hold you close, assure him he can be as comfortable as he likes.

Whichever way he settled is infinitely better than falling off the bed, and you’re grateful he’s accommodating in a small space. You suppose he has to be. Though, for a man as dense as a brick wall, he is shockingly pliant around you. 

Shame you have to stretch, ruining the picture of fitting puzzle pieces you’ve become.

Arms out and legs long, you roll, restless on the one side for too long in the night. Steve shifts around your moves, laying his head on your arm instead of the pillow. His arm that was your pillow wedges down by your waist instead.

Your knees knock his, so even in sleep, he lets them slot through, legs entangled and…his erection laying over your thigh, the tip poking your hip.

Your body tenses for a split second, the muscles of your leg brush harder against his cock, and Steve groans softly, the arm draped over you pulling your body closer.

He’s still asleep, breathing easy, his features totally relaxed.

His golden hair shines in the early light, and he’s so, so beautiful.

You move stray locks from his face, enjoying how he nuzzles and sighs as you play. Quiet, lazy touches.

His hips nudge forward for friction. His fingers grab at your nightshirt. One of his shifts angles his length to drive against your mound instead, and you gasp involuntarily, having smothered your excitement for too long.

He stirs, a heavier, longer breath followed by Steve's whole body going rigid and his eyes squeezing shut. He tries to bury his face in your arm, and you can’t help it. You hope he’ll continue.

You shush him, carding through his hair to soothe him as you did in the bath.

There’s nothing wrong.

He can feel good.

He should feel good.

You want him to feel good. Hell, you don’t say it, but you need to make him feel good.

Steve still won’t face you. He leans closer, shielding himself with your chest, but he doesn’t pull his hips away.

You can hear him thinking through his options groggily, and in your nervousness, you pull at the fistful of hair in your hand.

Steve whimpers and juts his pelvis forward.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “Did you like that? Does that feel nice, Stevie?”

His abs flutter with a spasming exhale, but he says nothing. His rough hands dig into your back while he desperately seeks more friction.

You let him—you encourage him—to keep going.

“Whatever you need…it’s okay.”

He pants into your skin, making you sweat while he dissolves into a mewling mess of shame, taking what he deserves.

He bends his leg for leverage, the sole of his foot pressing flush to your calf. You feel his thumping heartbeat along all of your skin that touches his. He swallows moans which sound hollow and deep where they die in his chest before Steve grunts and stretches, the whole underbelly of his cock rubbing your inner thigh and baiting your clit mercilessly with almost-contact.

You release his hair, asking “do you want my han—”

But it’s too late.

Steve seizes you in his last moments hard before he stills, palms so wide you’ll feel the marks over an entire shoulder blade and the breadth of skin from your ass to your ribcage.

You yelp, the nails of your trapped hand clawing at the sheets around you. It’s a good pain. It’s worth it to witness how his body melts into yours after he comes. He’s lax and heavy, pathetic convulsions of ecstasy subsiding.

You’re only just starting to feel the wet fabric on your thigh when he peels away and rushes to the bathroom.

The best thing for him is to act normal. It is normal for him to be hard in the morning, to want contact and satisfaction, and the truth is it’s perfectly normal for you to dream of providing that for him. You want that contact with him. You are satisfied when he is satisfied.

That's scary because it's a secret as hidden from you both as his identity now, but you won't talk about it. If he doesn't ask, then he doesn't want the answer. It's better that way.

So that was okay, and this is okay.

It's okay, and you tell him when you bring his gym clothes back to the door. You repeat it as he walks out of your home unable to look you in the eye, his partially-destroyed past life wadded up in a fresh plastic bag.

At the bottom of the porch steps, he turns, still focused on the ground.

“Thank you for the…the bath.”

You can’t tell anyone about him—about how you feel for him—not even him. It wouldn’t be right. He doesn’t want that.

“I’m glad you feel better, Grant.”

A/N: Google, Play 'Hopelessly Devoted To You.' *starts weeping some more*

[Next Part: Sensitive Boy, Part I]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes

[halcyon-autumn]

Wheel of Time Characters and the Cars They'd Drive

Written by someone who knows extremely little about cars

Rand: The poor boy buys like a standard issue sedan and then a bunch of weirdos start following him around and telling him that the car is "special." Moiraine spray paints dragon decals on his car one night while he's sleeping. People keep trying to slash his tires but he always catches them just in time. You know how it goes

Perrin: Pickup truck with normal sized wheels. Great for helping people move! Also great for running people over. Duality of man etc etc. There's always a dog in the back sticking its head out the window, but Perrin does not know this dog or where it came from

Nynaeve: She buys a used car that looks like it's falling apart and everyone tells her that she overpaid. Four months in, they realize that the last owner did a bunch of Fast and Furious style modifications and Nynaeve could probably outrace God

Mat: Bike. This SHOULD NOT WORK but somehow he's still on time to everything. This baffles everyone, including him

Egwene: Something VERY practical with great gas mileage, like a honda civic. That's the only practical car I know because it's what my dad told me to buy.

Elayne: Lexus. Mat makes fun of her for driving a luxury car and she's like "????? it's not like it's a Cadillac?"

Liandrin: A Cadillac

Moiraine: A jeep, but the nicest most upgraded version. Unless there's a car that's better for off-roading, in which case she drives that instead

Lan: A cool classic car. A car that can drift (maybe all cars can drift but Lan's definitely can). He thinks that Nynaeve's car is The Coolest for some reason

Lanfear: A horse! Just kidding. She drives a silver range rover because an article I googled said that range rovers are the king of the road.

Bonus:

Asmodean: the car type Does Not Matter all that matters is that he has a vanity license plate

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge: Unleashing the Power of Muscle

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

In 1962, a new era of muscle cars emerged, radiating brilliance and power. Chrysler led the way with their groundbreaking Max Wedge lineup, introducing the world to the fusion of unitized-body construction and the high-performance ram-tuned dual-carbureted 413 CI engine. Among these legends was the Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge, a remarkable vehicle that holds a significant place in automotive history.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

The First Super Stock Max Wedge with Manual Transmission According to the esteemed Chrysler Registry and the meticulous documentation by Darrell Davis, this specific Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge holds a groundbreaking distinction—it was the first Super Stock model equipped with a manual transmission. The car’s odometer displays a mere 6,593 miles and has undergone a meticulous restoration process to return it to its original specifications. Notably, the engine has been upgraded, boasting a dyno-proven power output exceeding 500 HP.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

Unleashing the Power of the 413 CI V-8 Engine The 1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge was powered by the formidable 413 CI V-8 engine. This was the first iteration of Chrysler’s renowned ram induction system, featuring a cross-ram intake manifold meticulously designed to optimize engine efficiency. The engine’s performance was further enhanced by the utilization of cast-iron header-style manifolds, which were rarely preserved but featured in this exceptional vehicle. Dale Reed of California refreshed the engine around 300 miles ago, ensuring its optimal performance. The correct Carter AFB carburetors reside beneath dual black air cleaners, accentuated by carefully placed decals.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

A Unique Manual Transmission Experience One of the distinctive aspects of this Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge is its manual transmission. Unlike its automatic counterparts, this car delivers a unique driving experience through its floor-mounted shifter, allowing the driver to truly feel the power at their fingertips. Paired with a full aftermarket exhaust equipped with cutouts and the robust 8 ¾ Chrysler differential, this Max Wedge offers an exhilarating ride for those who crave the thrill of the open road.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

Captivating Style and Authenticity The exterior of this Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge embodies the spirit of the era. Finished in captivating light blue paint, it exudes a timeless charm. The interior features a complementary blue cloth-and-vinyl combination, while the white-and-blue two-tone trim adds an elegant touch. The front and rear bench seats provide comfort, and the radio delete plate pays homage to the car’s performance-focused nature. Notably, it features a knee-knocker S-W column-mounted tachometer and a beautifully presented trio of rubber pedals. The car’s attention to detail is evident throughout, with the inclusion of circa-1962 chrome fonts, single-lens tail lamps, and OEM steel wheels adorned with poverty-type hubcaps.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

Provenance and Documentation Accompanying this Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge is a wealth of provenance and documentation that adds to its allure. It includes the original OEM IBM punch card and build sheet, which serve as a testament to its authenticity. Additionally, the window sticker provides insight into its original specifications, while the dyno sheet confirms its impressive horsepower rating. Vintage photos capture the car’s early years when it was part of a famous drag car collection, showcasing its illustrious past.

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge

Conclusion The 1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge stands as a testament to the golden age of muscle cars. With its groundbreaking manual transmission configuration, powerful 413 CI V-8 engine, and captivating style, it represents the pinnacle of Mopar’s storied performance heritage. Meticulously restored to its original glory, this Max Wedge allows enthusiasts to experience a bygone era’s raw power and timeless charm.

FAQs: How many miles does the 1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge have? The odometer of the 1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge reads 6,593 miles. Who documented the Chrysler Registry for this particular car? The meticulous documentation of the Chrysler Registry for this car was done by Darrell Davis. Has the engine of the 1962 Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge been upgraded? Yes, the engine of this Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge has been upgraded to a dyno-proven 500-plus HP. What is the significance of the 413 CI V-8 engine in this car? The 413 CI V-8 engine in this car was the first to receive Chrysler’s shortened version of ram induction, known as the cross-ram intake. It maximizes engine efficiency and pairs it with rarely preserved cast-iron header-style manifolds. What documentation and provenance come with this Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge? This Plymouth Savoy Max Wedge comes with various documentation, including the OEM IBM punch card, build sheet, window sticker, dyno sheet confirming horsepower rating, and vintage photos of its early years as part of a famous drag car collection.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

LOVE LOVE LOVE

The idea of Hobie Streetracing.

StreetRacer!Hobie 😭

I nneeeeddd StreetRacer!Hobie

Him under the hood of a vintage car, suping it up with self-made engines and parts. Hands covered in grease and a box of tools at his feet.

And with every new upgrade, he asks if you wanna take for a spin, if he can take you for a drive.

Gunning it from the cops in London at 80mph. Windows down with rock music BLASTING on homemade speakers.

And you know it's him cause his engine roars and GROWLS loud as hell.

Leaving tire marks on the on the pavement and kicking up dust at the pigs and doing donuts in the precinct parking lot screaming ACAB

He races for cash, then donates every penny to F.E.A.S.T.

Hobie doesn't do it for the money. He does it for the thrill, because he can and he's damn good at it. People know he's good at it, and challenge him to races a lot.

He's still undefeated though.

Hobie having INSANE control of the car like it's second nature. Hobie being a DRIFTING GOD.

The idea of sitting on the hood of the car he treats like his baby, glossed up with the sickest decals. Feeling the whole thing rumble when he revves it.

Or You waving the checkered flag before he takes off in a race.

Hobie DRIVING, one hand in the wheel like it's nothing. Wanting you to be in the car with him, just so he can show off. And he loves trying daring shit, just to get your heart racing and see that look on your face.

PLEASE Like does anyone else foam at the mouth at this or do I just have F&F brainrot

[some-little-infamy]

Day 8 of @118dailydrabble - passenger

Eddie pulls up to Buck’s, idling the car. He’s already smirking, which is going to give himself away the second Buck sees. As Buck makes his way outside, Eddie wipes the smile from his face.

“Hey, Eddie,” Buck says, opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat.

“Hey Buck,” Eddie greets, wondering how long it’ll take Buck to pull the mirror down to check his hair once they start driving. The windows are down so Eddie guesses 2 minutes.

It takes one.

Buck puts the mirror down and scrunches his face up in adorable indignation at the ‘passenger princess’ decal Eddie got for the mirror.

“What is this?!” Buck demands with a huff.

“Accurate,” Eddie quips, grinning.

[joelmillersdumbslut]

I think it's time you had a pink cloud summer (part one) (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

masterlist

summary: After losing your job and moving back to your hometown, you begin a fast-paced and steamy summer romance with your parents' friend, Joel Miller. (no outbreak AU, no use of y/n)

rating: 18+ explicit (minors do NOT interact)

warnings (for this chapter): age gap (reader is in late 20's, joel is in his 50's), dirty talk, pet names, hand kink (if you squint), mutual masturbation, fingering, hand job, soft!joel, dbf!joel, just a mix of smut and fluff

word count: 5.2k

a/n: this is my self-indulgent attempt at a smut and fluff series featuring my fav, joel miller. hope you enjoy it! ♡

ao3 link

You’re a loser. You’ve resigned to that fact. Your career has abruptly ended at the ripe age of twenty-eight. Over a fucking Zoom meeting, of all the ways to be laid off.

We appreciate all the hard work you’ve done for us.

You’re just not the right fit for this company.

We wish you luck with your future endeavors.

The job you fought so hard for. The one you studied and practiced hours for the interviews alone. The late nights spent at the office, weekends of writing emails and checking for messages from your coworkers. All gone in an instant.

After a few days of crying and wallowing in your misery, you call your parents. They drop everything to help you move back to your childhood home in Austin.

Your room is untouched. Pink bedding, unicorn decals on the walls, plastic glow-in-the-dark stars clinging to the ceiling. You cringe and beg your mom to let you paint over it. But, she loves reminiscing about the good ol’ days of your youth, and asks you to think about it before making any “irrational” decisions. You leave it as is. For now.

While you’re hauling the last box from your car to the house, a hand touches your shoulder. You spin around to see a man. Graying hair, scruffy beard, dressed in dirty jeans and a black t-shirt. His biceps protruding through the cloth. Your first thought is how attractive he is. And how he looks so familiar.

“Hey there, remember me?”

You squint at first before it hits you.

“Mr. Miller? I haven’t seen you since… Since I don’t know when,” you set the box down and he embraces you. His cologne fills your nostrils and you take a deep breath, hoping to remember the smell.

“You call me Joel now, we’re both adults, right?” he chuckles.

Joel lets go, his eyes trained on you. “Thought you were livin’ in Dallas. Had you a big girl job.”

Your face falls, you play with your hair nervously, “Well, I did. Guess they had enough of me.”

“Sorry, babygirl,” he mutters, the word knocking the wind out of you. “Sure you’ll find somethin’.”

“Yeah, if you have any leads, let me know,” you laugh awkwardly.

Since when did Joel get so handsome? Was he always this way, but you were too young to notice? Or care? His long, thick fingers comb out the curls in his hair and your heart skips a beat. Salacious thoughts about those fingers run through your mind before Joel’s gravelly voice brings you back down to Earth.

“Your mama invited me over for dinner. Lemme carry that for you.” Joel picks up the box and heads for the door.

—

“I know it’s weird. Please don’t judge me,” you feel embarrassed at the fact that the hot, older friend of your parents is standing in your childhood bedroom. You feel the urge to rip the decals off the walls, throw the girly bedding out the window. Anything to prove to him you’re not a kid anymore. Your anxiety doesn’t seem to faze him though. He sets the box down on the desk next to your computer, taking in the scenery around him.

“I like the stars,” he says, nodding at the ceiling.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen a night full of real stars,” you admit. “It’s hard to see them in the city.”

A prolonged pause fills the air. Joel raises his eyebrows, looking to test the waters.

“Maybe I could take you,” he murmurs.

“Like, the two of us?” you ask, stepping closer to him.

“Yeah, just like that,” he affirms. He closes the distance between the two of you. You’re standing face to face. Joel reaches out to caress your cheek. Your body is on fire.

“I’d like that,” you hum.

Joel seems to be thinking. Weighing the options of his situation. You bite your lower lip in anticipation.

And before you know it, Joel’s hand is reaching for yours. It happens so suddenly. His lips crash into you. His beard tickling your skin. You reciprocate, kissing him back, your hand clutching his fingers for dear life. You don’t dare pull away. Not yet. His tongue enters your mouth and collides with yours. Instinctively, you moan, and Joel drops your hand to wrap his arms around your body, pulling you even closer to him. You can feel something poking you through his pants. Your hand moves lower and lower and—

“Honey, dinner’s ready! Have you seen Mr. Miller?” your mom’s voice calls from the hallway.

The two of you separate. Quickly. Joel stands beside the desk, the box blocking his lower half from view. You sit on the bed, ignoring the wetness growing between your thighs.

Your mom is now in the doorway, apron tied around her waist. A delighted expression shines on her face. She has no idea what events just transpired in her daughter’s childhood bedroom. And you are going to make sure she never finds out.

“Joel was just helping me with my moving boxes,” your smile is as sweet as saccharine.

The older man gruffs and moves to tousle your hair, “It’s good to have her back.”

—

You think about his tongue, what it would be like between your thighs. You think about his fingers, wondering what it would feel like if they were to hold your breasts. You think about his cock straining against the denim of his jeans, desperate and hungry. Just for you.

You masturbate all night long.

Thinking of him.

—

In the morning, you decide to go for a walk. You can’t job hunt. Not yet. Not with your mind clouded like this.

You need to figure out where this is going first.

You head down the street and round the corner. Joel’s house is on the left. It’s Monday, but you hope he’s there. Maybe he took the day off from work. How could anyone be expected to focus after that moment in your bedroom?

He’s waiting for you on the front porch. His hands are occupied with his guitar, morning sunlight gleaming against the wood of the instrument. It reminds you of the way he’d play songs for you when you were a teenager. You would sit on the floor of his living room, watching in awe as his fingers danced across the neck of the guitar. You’re trying to recall what exactly he played for you, maybe it was Bob Dylan or Pink Floyd, but that memory soon escapes your brain when Joel glances up at you. He smiles as you carefully take the steps, each foot landing on the wood with a heavy thud. You cross the porch and sit down on the swing next to him.

“Good morning,” you finally say. Your hands are already shaking. Afraid you read the signals wrong. Terrified he may turn you down.

“What do I owe this pleasure?” he asks, setting the guitar down against the porch railing. His arm envelops your frame, pulling you a little closer. Your heart is nearly beating out of your chest.

Your answer is honest. Straight-forward. Simple.

“I came back for more.”

—

You find yourself standing in Joel’s living room. It’s been so many years, but it’s just like how you remember it. Knick knacks, magazines, and books spread out across shelves. A record player with a stack of vinyl in the corner. You thumb through the collection, settling on a Soundgarden album. You vaguely remember Joel telling you about them when you were going through your “emo phase.” You had preferred Nirvana instead. Once you slide the record onto the slipmat of the player and drop the needle, the heavy, sludgy rock music fills the air. You turn back to face him.

He’s been watching you intently, a small grin on his face. “Just makin’ yourself at home, huh, babygirl?”

You blush at that word again. It fills you with a warm, fuzzy feeling. One that feels so wrong that it’s got to be right.

“What, you like when I call you that?” he teases, his hand brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“What are we doing?” you ask quietly, your skin burning against his slightest touch. You know exactly what you’re doing. You know what’s about to happen in this house. You just want to hear him say it. Make it come to life. Make your fantasy a reality.

“Whatever you want, pretty girl,” he kisses your forehead, moving down to your neck. The small nips and bites he leaves have you aching for more, but you silently pray he doesn’t create any marks for your parents to see. How would you even begin to explain that?

“Is what we’re doing okay?” you mumble between his kisses, fighting off all the moans trying to escape your lips. “What if my parents find out?”

Joel pulls away, holding your hands. His soft brown eyes stare into yours.

“We don’t gotta do anything you don’t wanna do. We’ll go at your pace,” he whispers. “And if they find out, I’ll take care of it. How’s that sound?”

It’s an offer you can’t refuse.

—

“Ri-right here?” your voice trembles as Joel leads you to the couch. He had suggested you start there before making your way to his bedroom. On one hand, it feels rather adolescent. But on the other hand, there’s something about sneaking around like a couple of teenagers that excites you.

“Remember what I told you,” Joel plants kisses along your hairline as he helps you sit down on the couch. “Whatever you wanna do. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

He heads into the dining room, returning with a chair. He sits across from you, waiting for you to make the first move.

Moments pass. Joel’s hand reaches out, caressing your cheek. You can feel yourself melt as his calloused fingertips brush against your skin.

“It’s—It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything, with anybody,” you say suddenly, mindlessly picking at your fingernails. “Work kept me busy. I guess I don’t… I don’t even know where to start.”

Joel stares at you, deep in thought. Finally, he asks, “You wanna watch me?”

You glance up at him, amused. You’ve never done this with a partner before. Especially not with an older man like Joel. But, you aren’t going to let your lack of experience stop you.

“Okay,” you grin.

At your command, Joel unbuttons his jeans. He slowly pulls the zipper down. You observe his fluid movements as his cock springs from his boxers, and he begins to stroke himself. Soft moans slip away from his lips. He occasionally looks at you to smile.

After a few minutes of watching Joel touch himself, you begin to feel your insides throb. Thinking about how badly you want him. Your nerves dissipate as you remember what he told you. Whatever you want. At your pace. 

“I can’t let you have all the fun,” you giggle as you slip out of your shorts. Joel groans at the sight of you in your underwear.

“Such a pretty thing,” he murmurs, pumping into his hand at a quicker pace. “You gonna play with yourself for me?”

Your hand slips into your panties and you start rubbing your clit. Your fingers moving in slow circles against your already sensitive bud. You whine from your own touch, which causes Joel to crack a smile as he further examines you.

The two of you watch each other. The only sounds in the room consist of your simultaneous labored breathing and the record player needle reaching the end of the vinyl, a dull scratching noise on repeat.

“Can I see you, babygirl?” a whimper breaks away from Joel’s throat. You can see the head of his cock is now glistening in precum. You wonder how close he is.

With a smirk, you kick off your underwear, spreading your legs for him. You swear the old man’s heart stops for just a moment as he stares straight into your dripping pussy. Absolutely hypnotized.

“So pretty,” he exhales, his hand quickening its strokes, “That all for me?”

“It is,” you reply in a hush, “Is that cock all for me?”

“Just for you, babygirl, just for you,” Joel sighs.

You buck your hips as you keep touching yourself. You can feel your orgasm building quickly as you watch Joel. Imagining his cock inside you is pushing you over the edge.

“I think I might cum soon,” you whisper, your fingers moving faster against your clit, fire growing deep inside your belly.

“Can I help you, babygirl?” Joel asks, removing his hand from his cock. You nod frantically, needing something, anything to help you release the tension building inside your body.

The long and thick middle finger of Joel’s hand is suddenly curling up inside you, hitting places you forgot had existed. Places your own fingers can’t even reach. He moves in and out gently. Your body stiffens right as you’re about to let go. You hear Joel mumbling words of encouragement, plenty of them including “babygirl,” as you cum all over his couch, your arousal trickling down the back of your thighs and sticking to the fabric.

Joel follows you soon after. He takes your slick from his finger, using it as lube for his cock. He mutters obscenities as you watch him orgasm, long liquid ropes splattering in the palms of his hands. He breathes heavily in the afterglow, looking up at you to grin. 

“How was that, babygirl?”

You nod, your brain still thinking of his fingers, his cock, his mouth, his everything, unable to find the words you’re looking for. Joel stands up and walks to the kitchen.

You begin looking around for your clothing, not remembering where you had tossed it during all of the commotion. You hear the kitchen sink running as you pull on your underwear, reaching for your shorts next. Once you’re fully dressed again, you make your way to the record player on the other side of the living room and flip the vinyl to the next side. Trying to find excuses to stay a little longer in case he wants you to leave. Your heart sinks, hoping that’s not the case. Hoping you’re more than just material to jack off to.

To your surprise, Joel’s arms wrap around you from behind, and he leans down to kiss you.

“You don’t have anywhere to be, right?” his voice is a little wobbly. You wonder what he’s got to be nervous about. If anything, you feel like you should be the anxious one.

“I was hoping to stay for a while. If that’s okay,” you answer, turning around to face him.

“Good,” his smile is genuine, warm. “I was plannin’ on takin’ you to see the stars.”

—

When dusk rolls around, Joel leads you to his truck. He holds the door open for you as you settle into the passenger seat with plastic bags filled to the brim with snacks and drinks. You set them on the floorboard and put on your seatbelt as Joel sits down next to you in the driver’s seat. You’re looking through your phone for songs to play on your mini-road trip when you receive a call.

“Shit, it’s my dad,” you mutter, eyes darting between the “Answer” and “Decline” icons on your screen. You never told your parents where you were headed when you left this morning.

“You should tell ‘em where you are,” Joel suggests, turning the key in the ignition to start the vehicle.

“You gotta help me then,” you respond, your eyes full of fear. You aren’t sure how your parents would react if they were to find out you spent the day messing around with their longtime friend. And even though you’re an adult who is capable of making her own decisions, even if that includes developing a relationship with an older man, you're still afraid of their reactions.

“‘Course I will, babygirl,” Joel grips your thigh as you tap on the “Answer” icon.

“Hello?” you try to remain cool and collected when you pick up the phone.

“Honey, where have you been? Your mom and I have been worried sick,” your dad’s voice echoes through the speaker.

“I know, I’m sorry. I lost track of time,” you explain. Not totally a lie. You just won’t tell him what you spent your time doing.

“Where are you?” your dad asks.

You glance at Joel, your eyes pleading for help.

“Don’t worry, she’s with me,” Joel answers. “Found her a temporary job while she’s lookin’.”

“Joel, is that you?” your dad’s voice is drenched in confusion, “What did you find for her to do?”

“Figured she could organize my paperwork and my blueprints,” Joel says calmly. Your eyes light up as you remember Joel’s carpentry business. It’s a good cover.

“Yeah, he needs all the help he can get,” you add with a grin. Joel smiles back at you.

Your dad lets out a sigh of relief, “That’s mighty kind of you, Joel. Just make sure she’s not out too late.”

“Dad, I’m twenty-eight years old. I’m in good hands with… Mr. Miller,” you remark.

“I know, I know. We’ll see you when you get home,” your dad says and the call ends.

You stare at your phone, wondering how the hell you just pulled that off.

“You know, you’re gonna have to actually work for me now,” Joel teases you as he backs the truck out of the driveway, turning onto the street.

“I don’t know, seems like a lot of effort. What exactly do I get out of it?” you joke back at him.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Joel chuckles, his hand reaching for yours as he drives toward the highway.

—

An hour later, you’re fifty miles outside of Austin. On the way to your destination, Joel tells you about this river with beachside parking that’s great for stargazing. It’s hard to focus on the conversation when his fingers are interlaced with yours. Those same fingers that were touching you just hours earlier. You snap back to reality when Joel squeezes your hand.

It’s pitch black when you pull into the parking lot at the river. The sky is littered with stars and planets and the blinking lights of airplanes flying overhead. Just begging for you to see what wonders it holds.

You climb into the bed of Joel’s truck, laying on your back. You forget about how uncomfortable it is when Joel joins you, his arm wrapping around you.

“See that one right there? That’s Jupiter,” he whispers, his scruff grazing your ear.

“How do you know?” you squint your eyes, trying to see it a little better. A bright blue glowing dot in the nighttime sky. Millions of miles away from you.

“Looked it up before we came here. Wanted to impress you,” Joel sheepishly admits.

Your heart skips a beat as the two of you continue to look up into the atmosphere.

“You know,” Joel breaks the silence, “It’s been about ten years since I last saw you. We got a lot to catch up on.”

“Well, we’ve got all the time in the world now,” you lean over and kiss his nose. It’s hard to see in the dark, but you swear his face briefly turned red.

You nod at one of the clusters of stars in the sky and ask, “Which one is that?”

“Which one? Hard to see with all of ‘em so close together.”

“That one riiiight there,” you smirk, your finger pointing at a star at the very edge of the cluster. All by its lonesome.

“Don’t know,” Joel laughs, “Maybe that could be our star.”

“I like the sound of that,” you murmur, cuddling closer to him.

—

You spend your days at Joel’s house. He actually puts you to work organizing his carpentry blueprints and filing business paperwork. But, it’s easy and you’re grateful for something to keep you busy. Spending time in Joel’s presence is an added bonus.

It’s been a few weeks since you watched each other. Glimpses of that moment keep swirling around in your mind. You try to focus on alphabetizing Joel’s client list, but all you can think about is the way his hand wrapped around his cock. Sliding up and down his length. You think about how you wish that was your hand instead. You wonder what his skin feels like, you wonder what it tastes like, you wonder what it would feel like inside of you—

“You workin’ hard or hardly workin’?” Joel’s voice disrupts your impure daydreams and you nearly jump out of your seat.

“I’m almost done,” you stammer, spinning around in your chair to face Joel. He’s standing just inside the doorframe of the home office. He’s covered in dirt and sawdust and sweat.

“Gonna take a shower. You wanna hang out when you’re done?” he looks at you expectantly.

You’ve been skipping dinner with your parents a few nights a week to “hang out” with Joel. Which entails making out on his couch, your hands traveling across each other’s clothed bodies, kisses on cheeks and necks and shoulders. Every night, you pray that it leads to something more.

“If you wanna hang out, I’ll be free,” you can feel your face burn, wondering if he has anything special in mind for the two of you tonight. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

“Good. Got a surprise for you.”

Or maybe it’s not.

—

“We’re here,” Joel puts the truck in park, glancing over at you with an enthusiastic expression.

“A record store?” your face is planted against the glass window of the truck as you marvel at the flashing neon “open” sign hanging on the shop door.

“Thought maybe we could pick out some new albums together,” Joel runs his fingers through his hair, “Since you like my record player so much.”

You beam at him and lean across the console of the truck to hug him. He seems surprised, but returns your embrace, his hand rubbing your back.

“Come on, let’s go!” you break away from him and push open the truck door. Joel scurries after you.

The inside of the store is filled with racks and shelves. The vinyl records are organized by genre, mostly in alphabetical order. A little anarchy seems to exist in certain sections, but what you’re focused on is rock. The bridge that connects you and Joel.

You thumb through the albums whose artists start with the letter “N,” already knowing exactly what you’re looking for. Joel joins you, amusement dancing across his face as he watches you.

“Oh my god, they have it!” you exclaim, carefully sliding a record out from the batch before you.

“What’s that?” Joel scrunches his eyes as you show him the cover.

“Only one of the most monumental albums in history! It’s from when Nirvana played acoustic versions of their songs live on MTV,” you explain quickly, your excitement growing.

“Were you even alive back then?” Joel teases, scanning a stack of records in front of him.

“Can we get it, Joel? Please?” you bat your eyelashes, fully prepared to go all doe-eyed in the case that he tells you to put it back.

“Only if we can get this,” he says, holding up a dark pink album cover with hands and arms reaching up to the text of the band’s name.

“Pearl Jam? You still listen to them?” you smile, remembering that Joel had given you a burned copy of one of their albums when you were in high school. You don’t remember ever listening to it, but now you hope you have it packed away somewhere in one of the moving boxes in your bedroom.

“‘Course I do. You think I’m old or somethin’?”

“You’re not that old,” you playfully punch his arm.

You feel the urge to say something. You’re not sure if the two of you are there yet, but you want to see how he reacts. See if this is going where you think it might be. Better to figure it out now than get your heart broken later on down the line.

“This is probably the best second date ever,” you confess hesitantly.

Joel looks surprised, but not startled. He takes your hand, leading you to the cash register.

“‘Probably?’ Anything I can do to make it the best second date ever?” he asks, a small grin appearing on his face.

“I’m sure you can think of something,” you smirk, relief washing over you.

—

Once you get back to Joel’s house, you kick off your shoes in front of the door, making your way to the living room. It’s late and you should be home by now. Your parents are probably worried. You know you should hurry home. But, you have to arrange the albums perfectly. You decide to organize Joel’s existing pile into alphabetical order after he admitted to you that he normally leaves the records lying around when he’s not listening to them.

After spending a few minutes getting everything systematized, you finally place Nirvana and Pearl Jam next to each other in the stack, standing back to admire your handiwork. Ever since you lost your job, you’ve been feeling like you don’t have control over anything. But, at least Joel lets you have this with his albums and his paperwork. A little bit of calm amidst turbulence. 

“It’s gettin’ late,” Joel is standing behind you now, “You should probably head home.”

“Yeah,” you respond somewhat sullenly. Spending time with Joel has recently become the highlight of your days. You always manage to find reasons to stay. Because leaving is the hardest part.

“Unless…” Joel begins.

You turn around, your eyes darting between his face and his hands.

“Unless what?” you ask.

Joel’s hand reaches up. He tips your chin as he leans in to kiss you. The press of his lips is soft, doting, sweet. You ache for more. You always do. With him, it’s never enough.

“Can I touch you, babygirl?” he asks between bated breaths. Pulling away, he looks into your eyes. Waiting for your confirmation.

“Please,” you whimper, “Please touch me.”

Joel guides you to the couch, gesturing for you to lay down. You shimmy out of your pants and underwear, letting them pool onto the floor. As soon as you’re on your back against the cushions, Joel climbs on top of you. His kisses are ravenous as he nibbles your collar bones, leaving his mark for you to see, to admire later on when you’re alone.

“You ready?” his hand moves from playing with your breast to just below your belly. He hovers over your sex, waiting for you to give him the word.

“I’m ready.”

“If you don’t wanna do this anymore, you tell me to stop. Okay?” Joel refuses to break eye contact with you until you nod. 

His middle finger easily penetrates you and slips inside your body. A gasp evades your throat and you arch your back. Joel begins to move slowly, his calloused fingertip hitting your sweet spot just right.

“How’s that feel, babygirl?” he asks, kissing your jaw.

“So fucking good,” you murmur, focusing on the pleasure being transmitted from your core to your limbs to your brain to your teeth to your toes.

“Want another one?”

He certainly doesn’t have to ask twice because you’re wildly nodding, silently begging and pleading for more.

“You let me know if it hurts,” Joel adds another finger, sliding deep inside you, pumping in and out a little bit faster now.

“So, so good,” you can already feel your orgasm building, climbing up from deep down inside your depths.

“I know, babygirl, you’re so fucking wet. Just imagine how wet and tight you’ll be when I finally fuck you,” he cooes.

“I want you so bad, Joel,” you whine, panting faster as your body exudes your satisfaction.

“Soon, babygirl, soon. Just focus right here, right here on my fingers. Cum for me.”

And you do. You cum all over the couch, liquid dripping from between your legs. Joel fucks you through it, slowing down once you’ve reached the end. He gently removes his fingers from your pussy, holding them up to his mouth. He sucks on them and you feel desire rise up inside you again. You want him so bad. You feel insatiable.

“You taste so good, babygirl,” he leans down and kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Can… Can I touch you?” The words barrel past your lips.

Joel sits up, leaning back against the couch. He unzips his jeans, reaching into his boxers. He eases his cock out. It’s already hard, waiting just for you.

“Come here,” he smiles.

You suddenly sit up, leaning against him. Your hand makes contact with him. The skin is soft and smooth. Just like you had imagined it.

It’s been a long time since you’ve touched another person. So, you mimic what he had done a few weeks earlier. You start out slow, your hand gliding up and down his shaft. You glance up at him to gauge his reaction. Joel is breathing deeply, his eyes closed. Focusing all on you.

“How does it feel?” you question him, your hand moving a little faster now.

“Feels good, babygirl,” he murmurs. His head tilts toward you, his kisses along your neck are driven by desire and lust.

“Bet it would feel better if my pussy was wrapped around you,” you purr mischievously.

That gets a groan out of Joel. His sighs are getting shorter, raspier. He must be reaching the edge.

“You got a mouth on you, you know that?” he teases.

You hurry your hand’s pace, hoping to help Joel arrive at his climax. Your thumb grazes the head of his cock, you can feel arousal dribbling out.

“Doin’ such a good job for me,” Joel moans, “You’re gonna make me cum, babygirl.”

You stroke faster as he releases into your hand, covering your palm in a sticky, ropy substance. You slow down, kissing him on the cheek.

Then you climb into Joel’s lap, holding him close to you. Your chests rising and falling as one. You spend several moments like this. Just existing. Together. Joel’s fingers interlace with yours, combining each other’s fluids.

“I don’t wanna go,” you whisper.

“You don’t have to,” his lips brush against you, “Stay here with me for a little while.”

A little while turns into several hours. Time spent kissing and listening to music and dancing in the living room. You sneak back into your bedroom after 4 a.m. You’re careful not to wake your parents. You wouldn’t even know how to begin to explain the bruises on your skin, the pounding in your chest, the yearning in your heart.

You fall asleep thinking about how losing your job and moving back home originally felt like a death sentence. But, now with Joel, it feels like the beginning of a new life.

And there’s so much yet to experience.

—

[sanity-is-for-the-sane]

So… my partner placed the order for my stickers and sweet primus are they BIG 😂 So uh, if you ever wanted giant car decals I will have them at TFcon Toronto!

The second one is hard to see, it’s a way larger version of this one currently on my truck “Megatron doesn’t care about your stick figure family”

When I get my truck back from the shop I have to see if it will even fit on my back window..

[teawithnosugar]

Late Nights

Bff!Ellie x Street Racer!Reader

CW: a little angst, a little fluff, situationship things WORDS: 0.7k SYNOPSIS: You and your best friend Ellie aren’t made for relationships, but that doesn’t stop the lingering touches and kisses (Modern AU) SONG: Heat Waves - Glass Animals

"Sometimes all I think about is you"

AN: I'M SO SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT BUT I WAS OUT YESTERDAY AND HAD NO TIME TO WRITE SO THIS WAS KINDA RUSHED 😭 Kinda inspired by this video I saw on Pinterest

Knock

Knock

“Jesus Christ I don’t have the ti-“ Ellie pauses after harshly opening her front door, eyes finding yours. You stifle a laugh, you marveled at how her anger crumbled in that instant. "Well hello to you too, Sour Mood~" you chuckled, playfully taunting the brunette. Rolling her eyes, she restrained herself from scanning you from head to toe, the sight of your short skirt dancing in the gentle breeze was an irresistible spectacle.

“The fuck are you doing here at 1am, shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” You retorted with a grin. You wrapped your arm around hers, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. You tried to calm the butterflies that flapped their wings violently in your stomach. You did this with everyone, you kissed and made out with all your friends, but Ellie reserved such intimacies for you alone... and the occasional girls she dated, a realization that now lingered awkwardly, causing you to clear your throat.

She tried to seem unamused with your response, but your lips on her skin sent a wave of…something all throughout her body.

“Shut up, what do you want?” she said with a sigh.

“Wanna go for a drive?” you smiled widely. You had gone to a party before going here. You met up with Dina and she told you Ellie was feeling down so you wanted to cheer her up the way you always did.

She groaned softly, “who told you? Jesse? Dina?” You snorted “not gonna drop names dude, I got you some weed too anyways. It’s in the car~” you sang, wiggling your brow at hers.

With another sigh, she made her way towards your car. Its pink exterior was adorned with decals, reflecting your passion for street racing, ensuring that your vehicle garnered as much adoration  from your audience as you did.

You skipped to the driver’s seat, Ellie already buckled in. The inside of your car had all kinds of buttons, neon lights and screens no normal car had. Towering speakers were affixed in front of the passenger seat. When you first revealed your car to Ellie five years ago, during high school, she fell head over heels for you. Reaching into the cup holder, you retrieved a ziplock bag filled with weed and tossed it her way. “Bought it with my prize money from the last race,” you declared with a grin. She chuckled softly, whispering a heartfelt "thank you."

The drive was quiet, windows down, the city whizzing past as you maintained a pace slightly exceeding the legal limit. You didn't ask about the cause of her anger; you never did. You knew her well enough to know that if it was really worth it, she’d talk about it immediately. You were wrong this one time though. Yesterday, at another party, a girl was talking about you and it pissed her off. She belittled you, reducing you to another good fuck. Ellie was pissed at the way that girl talked about you like you were nothing because you were her everything. She seethed with an overwhelming jealousy because you let someone like that bitch touch you so intimately and it frustrated her. You noticed the ride barely lightened her mood, her brows still furrowed and an intense anger in her eyes as she kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead. So you decided to put a hand on her thigh as you drove, hoping your touch was enough to pull her away from her thoughts just a little. You both knew of the mutual affection that had simmered for years, yet you also knew that neither of you were suited for relationships. It was something unspoken but you both understood it. You were too needy, craving more than what one person could possibly provide. You both had no safety or love for years and while you were making up for it by searching for what you lacked in the touches of strangers and friends alike, Ellie wasn’t like that. The years turned her cold, freezing her emotions, casting others aside, and leaving her adrift in the sea of detachment.. You’d never make it as a couple, but as friends? It was manageable somehow. So you settled for stolen moments, stolen glances, stolen touches, and the sweet kisses you’d give her tonight and every night after that spoke volumes without the need for words. Under your touch, she visibly relaxes. She places her hand atop yours, gently turning it over to entwine your fingers with hers. The rest of the drive was quiet and peaceful. You didn’t need the formal commitment of a relationship, not when in the depths of these late nights, the only thoughts that consumed you were of one another.